


Their Love Such a Delicate Prize

by fosfomifira



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Threesome, happy London days, happy London threesome days, introspective smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fosfomifira/pseuds/fosfomifira
Summary: If only London knew what they truly were to each other, Thomas and James and Miranda herself. That it was so much more than what took place between Miranda’s marriage bed sheets, behind locked doors and against their library’s shelves, on their lieutenant’s modest bed.





	Their Love Such a Delicate Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Olympic gold medal in betaing goes to the fantastically thorough, most supportive and encouraging, the one and only [fandomfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfan/pseuds/fandomfan). Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

The house was quiet, even London was silent in the dead of the night, dawn not quite there yet. Barely any light filtered in through the windows, curtains drawn almost all the way back. The waning moon shone in a near cloudless sky after a day of heavy rain. In the darkness, Miranda could see her husband asleep by her side, his breathing steady, his hair rumpled, his lips bitten red, not a thought daring to trouble dear Thomas’ sleep. To her left slept her lover — James’ hair was as tangled as Miranda’s own, his body curled up on itself, as if he was afraid to take too much room and make his presence unwelcome. Or perhaps, she thought to herself, it was simply the natural consequence of a lifetime spent on narrow cots and narrower hammocks, never being afforded the luxury of a bed big enough for him to lose himself into. In the middle, Miranda herself lay wide awake, her mind and her heart filled to bursting with joy and sheer delight. Her boldness had been suitably rewarded on this day.

From a young age Miranda had carefully learnt the ways of the world, the expectations placed upon her and, much more discreetly, she came to understand what she wished for herself. It had taken her many years of dutiful study, but she has made a place of her own in London society. Her reputation - all of it - was her own work and hers alone. From girlhood to youth to adulthood she'd always been her own woman, her head always held up high. And yet, what she had now - her marriage, her home, her bed, her lovers - had surpassed her expectations. Husband and lover, together in her bed, planets and stars so tenderly aligned to allow for this most momentous new way of loving that shall become their own. 

Today there had been no appointments or duties to attend to, and so they'd been free to exhaust themselves throughout the hours. What had started as gentle teasing over lunch had turned into indecent innuendo as the day progressed, her husband and lover the eager objects of Miranda’s attention. Time stood still and perfect in her rooms once they retired, foregoing supper to indulge a different manner of appetite - their bodies nothing but pleasure, their hearts bursting with love. 

In the middle of the night, in her big bed, soft sheets made softer still by the bodies warming them, Miranda asked herself, is there a limit to how much joy a person might experience? Is it greed to want to have it all?

*

The depth of the night was a quiet time, an hour that lent itself to all manner of thoughts. There was plenty to distract Miranda: the slight soreness in her body, her plans for the week, but she couldn't help but allow herself a more analytical mood. What Miranda and James shared would never be the same again, that much was certain. What James and Thomas were growing between them, what was blooming there had yet to reach its peak. What the three of them could become together, truly together, was an ongoing experiment, a delicate dance where bodies were easier to unite than hearts. There was so much potential, so much more joy to be had, that much Miranda was confident of. Who was to say what the three of them together could do? What could they not accomplish if they set their minds to it?

*

“Are you quite certain?” James asked the both of them before the first time they all shared a bed at the same time. Miranda and Thomas sat side by side, holding hands, as comfortable in this as in any other conversation whilst James blinked right in front of them. Incredulity looked rather endearing on him, Miranda noticed. It gave him a youthful air that was quite fetching.

“The three of us?” James asked once more. “The three of us in one bed, all at once.”

“Unless you have any objections,” Thomas replied, as thoughtful and reassuring as ever, but Miranda could see through James’ doubts better than James himself when it came to matters of his own heart.

“Life is simply too short and there can never be enough love or enough joy. It is not wrong to want to have it all,” Miranda said to James as she walked up to him, Thomas following right by her side, surrounding their lieutenant. She held James’ hands in hers, then held him close in her arms, leaning close to whisper into his ear. “Why not share what love we all have for each other?” James stood still, his eyes closed as she raised her head to kiss his mouth, her hands light and firm on his hair as Thomas’s kissed James’ neck, his hands strong on James’ shoulders. 

It had been simple, that first time together. There had been no need nor inclination to try any fanciful permutation of their bodies. Instead, it had been a matter of learning how to be three rather than two in bed, a matter made easier by the growing familiarity they all had with each other. James was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the center of Miranda and Thomas’ attention, both of them determined to ease away any hesitation he might have had.

The second time they were together Thomas and James had devoted themselves to Miranda’s pleasure, much to her delight. At first, they had taken turns to please her with hands and mouths; Thomas’ long fingers never disappointed, and James’ mouth was a wonder. It was only when she could hardly keep her eyes open out of sheer pleasure that they fucked her, one after the other. 

The third time took much longer to come as Thomas and James were very much the center of each other’s world, blinding themselves to anything else for long hours or whenever they caught each other’s eyes. If left to their own devices, there’d be no telling when all three of them would next share a bed, so lost they were to each other. And so Miranda had claimed her ground in the carriage on their way back from the Ashes' dinner. She'd teased them terribly throughout the event with whispered words and heated glances that no other guest could ever hope to notice. Then, in the carriage, she'd boldly taken James whilst Thomas used his words and hands to make their blood run hotter. And yet, despite the thrill and sheer joy each encounter brought them, it pained Miranda to realise encounters such as this in which all three of them shared bodies and hearts were an exception: a warm and sunny day in an otherwise grey, cold winter. 

Miranda had never been a woman to passively wait for the world to be as she wished it to be. She was certain they could bring James into their life and rewrite yet again the rules on what marriage should be like, what happiness could look like. It was only a matter of patience and time.

* * *

Days passed in a blur of Miranda’s usual activities and her secret delights, every morning bringing the promise of yet more happiness, every night making it come true in its own imperfect way. 

When Miranda went to bed that night the moon was full and the skies clear, gusts of wind taking away the smoke of the city and, with it, Miranda’s rest. Her ability to sleep through the night undisturbed seemed to be a thing of the past. Thomas laid silently by her side, his sleep troubled. He'd come to her with his hair mussed, his lips swollen and his eyes downcast. 

“He’s gone,” Thomas had said, all that was needed to explain his presence in her room. Thomas had then simply laid on her bed, his head on her lap, wordlessly asking for comfort, unable to find any peace in his now empty bed with its cooling, rumpled sheets. 

“I tried, you know,” Thomas had said, sharing the tale of how, despite his best efforts, there’d been no persuading James to spend the night with him. "He said he was expected at the Admiralty first thing in the morning and that he'd never look presentable, let alone be on time, if he stayed." 

Miranda could picture the scene with absolute clarity: James with a wicked gleam in his eye, teasingly reminding Thomas of other nights where Thomas had indeed persuaded him to stay. 

And yet Miranda was sure there had also been heartbreak in James’ eyes. The man had changed so deeply since they'd first met. Long before she made him her lover, he already was a different man than the circumspect, measured officer he liked to portray himself as. Thomas had the knack for changing people by virtue of being himself. Miranda knew herself to be more subtle – both by necessity and nature – but no less adept at inducing deep change in those she cared for. The two of them had unleashed a tempest inside James’ heart, one from which there was no going back. 

Miranda could feel a sense of urgency to their every moment together, as electric as the air before a storm. Where James could once barely be persuaded to set aside his care at how he was perceived by others, now he was bursting at the seams with his newfound sense of self, so clearly at home with his heart for the first time in his life. Even Thomas, who had once made discretion of his dalliances with men an unwelcome but most necessary skill, had grown restless and impatient, barely hiding his frustration at having to hide their love. There were so many swords hanging over their heads and yet every day that went by Thomas and James grew more forgetful of society’s harsh rules and its merciless justice. 

There were subtle changes Miranda brought into their lives to appease her fears and bring a measure of safety to their lives. Servants had slowly become used to their new ways, how closed doors should never be opened, the upper floor off-limits once the sun went down unless they were called for, how sometimes the lord or the lady of the house simply disappeared, leaving with no notice and returning hours later, sometimes even the following day, with no explanation whatsoever. The disguise of eccentricity was all she could do to keep her household, this borrowed kingdom they lived in, safe. And yet Miranda knew that loyalty could be bought and thus be turned into betrayal; curiosity and need - or greed - such a deeply embedded part of human nature. Try as she might, there were no certainties regarding their safety in grey, watchful, petty England. 

More than Thomas, or even James, Miranda understood the ways of the world and how it would so relentlessly exact vengeance upon those who dared defy its rules. For every rumour that carried any of their names, she had a ready reply, a clever deflection to keep them safe, but there was only so much she could do: her power and influence to defend herself and her loved ones limited despite her position and rank.

Miranda was no sailor, but she could see the storm clouds threatening on their horizon.

* * *

Time had a will of its own, Miranda had found. It rushed and rushed like a desperate wild horse when she and Thomas and James were together, then it seemed to crawl almost to a stop, a trickle of water to a thirsty man the moment they were apart.

Tonight there were clouds covering the skies, raindrops hitting hard against closed windows, a storm unleashed upon the city with no warning. All of London was abed, not a soul in the streets if they had a place to call their own, but Miranda was wide awake. It had only been sensible to offer James a guest room for the night, the very same he'd used a few times since the earliest days of their acquaintance. It was the room where he'd been persuaded to keep a change of smallclothes, a brush for his hair, ink and pen and paper, a selection of books to soothe him into sleep after a hard day's work. When their relationship was still innocent and simple, that of liaison and Lord and his Lady wife, it had seemed an unconventional, if reasonable arrangement, considering how far from the Hamilton’s home James’ rooms were located, how late into the night he and Thomas would work. Now it was entirely something else: their relationship anything but innocent or simple. That night, in the room James didn’t yet dare call his own, he had embraced his desires. His skill at command had been on magnificent display as he had both Miranda and Thomas, taking what he wanted from each of them and giving so much more in return.

This bed was smaller than Miranda’s own or Thomas’, but there's just enough room for all three of them. Both men were still asleep, holding each other tight, curled up in each other’s arms. It made for a lovely picture, a beautiful tableau to be admired.

Perhaps this was that London gossips believed took place every day and night in the Hamilton household, like a scene from an obscene continental pamphlet. And such things had been true on occasion, but to believe this all there was to the three of them only betrayed a fundamental lack of imagination Miranda could not help but regard with contempt. Yes, they fucked each other. Yes, they fucked each other at the same time and then by turns. Yes, they did all those things and so many more. 

If only London knew what they truly were to each other, Thomas and James and Miranda herself. That it was so much more than what took place between Miranda’s marriage bed sheets, behind locked doors and against their library’s shelves, on their lieutenant’s modest bed. Perhaps it was best that London’s gossips had no clue. It was safest this way, the slur on her name guarding more tender and brittle feelings not meant to be exposed to curious crowds. Some emotions, Miranda had found, require a measure of secrecy, of discretion, the most private of intimacies to fully bloom.

If they didn't have to guard their backs they could be free to be themselves and find their own ways to love, that much Miranda was certain of. There would be no need for secrecy or locked doors. It had never been in Thomas’ nature to hide, even when it would be to his advantage. James had shed his sense of propriety as if he were some kind of magical creature, a spell broken at long last freeing him from his shell, his true self awake at long last. James wouldn’t go back to who he used to be, he wouldn’t allow himself to be silenced once again, that much had become clear the more time they spent together. They had found freedom in each other’s arms, a dreadful prison each moment they were apart.

It'd be best, it’d be the sensible thing to do to simply relish in a carefully curated series of moments when they could count on absolute privacy, those blessed times where there was no shame to contend with, when doors were locked and walls raised, beyond the reach of the world and its judgment. Their nights together never lasted enough, dawn always threatening to expose them, broad daylight so eager to shame them. Others would be satisfied with what they had, those precious few stolen hours, but Miranda has always wanted more, and so did Thomas and James.

Miranda once thought herself to be free. Now she lived with concern in her heart where once there was none, seeing enemies hiding behind every door. If she were to mention this to Thomas and James they’d dismiss her concerns, but Miranda knew herself to be right. But they asked no questions and paid no notice to the somber mood that had taken over her. 

If only Miranda could rule the world — or England, at the very least —, she thought to herself, there would be no need for deception. There would be no rules on pleasure, no place for shame. A woman might choose to find her satisfaction anywhere and everywhere, her name untouched by the number of lovers she took to her bed. Lust could be prized for the sign of vitality she believed it to be. Miranda would preside over all subjects with fairness, a true reformer at heart. Her two men would stand by her side, eager to serve her: her husband the faithful advisor, her lover the sailor-warrior. If her subjects talked of this arrangement it would be to praise her men for offering such sound advice, for being the only ones Queen Miranda had chosen to keep permanently by her side. 

Queen Miranda of England, Miranda said to herself, would enjoy many things. In public, she'd be as wise as sharp, curious and strong, decisive in her pursuit of a better world. Her mind would always be eager to listen to a new idea, but the final word would always be hers and hers alone; the focus of her attention on those told that they should not be listened to, invisible to the world. Miranda the reformer, she would be called, bold and regal, proud and always with a secret smile on her lips, her love of the arts only matched by her love of freedom and the keenness of her mind. In her private rooms, she would rule over their lusts as she saw fit. Here, husband and consort would not grow more in love with each other than with her. Here there would be nothing but joy.

Miranda believed there might be a chance to go unnoticed once the time came to build the New World kingdom they envisioned, to let new ways rule new lands, free of the burdens England placed on her people. It hadn't been suggested yet, but for all that Miranda didn't have it in her to become a settler running a homestead in the humid wilderness of the Bahamas, freedom enticed her deeply. A new world made of pardoned men, murderers and thieves alike. Surely there’d be room in it for women of notorious reputations to be just as free?

It was easy to dream of big houses with big, airy rooms to let the sea breeze cool them. It was easy to dream of big beds made small by the three bodies in them, crisp bed sheets crumpled and tossed aside in their nightly passions and morning delights. It was bold to dream of herself standing with her head held high, with her husband and her consort flanking her, society and its rules remaking themselves around them, around all of those who’d chosen to build this new world. It was the sort of dream only Thomas indulged in, the kind he’d be the only one to voice out loud. It was a hope she treasured deep in her chest and nothing more. This England was not her England. Here she did not rule.

* * *

As a married woman Miranda had taken advantage of her position in every possible way, most decidedly including the very simple luxury of lazing around in bed whenever the mood struck, openly defying whichever mediocre concept of womanly duty would force her out of bed at dawn. In the early days of her marriage Miranda had slept soundly through the night, regardless of the company she kept or the lovers she took to her bed.

To her surprise and displeasure, that night Miranda found herself opening her eyes well before dawn broke, her rest interrupted. A vague sense of unease had crept into her rest, thoughts that would not be banished by the simple force of her will. Instead, Miranda closed her eyes, her clever fingers knew just the way to light the sparks in her body and soothe herself back to sleep with pleasure, a comfortable distraction from the ever more frequent emptiness of her bed. 

If only the harpsichord bench wasn't such a dainty thing they could have a world of fun on it, Miranda thought to herself, her imagination providing the delightful images that would bring her most satisfaction and peace for the night. James could sit on it and Miranda would ride him as she played, her back to his chest, barely rocking on his hard cock, teasing James and herself whilst moving to the rhythm of the gentle tune she’d play, his fingers teasing her sex - touching where he penetrated her, slick with her wetness, her skirts raised high up to better expose her, his other hand on her breast, down her dress, pressed tight by her stays against her skin leaving so little room for him to move.

If Miranda had her way Thomas would burst into the music room, pretending to be outraged by his wife’s infidelity whilst doing a very poor job of hiding his arousal. Poor James, he’d be unable to move with Miranda still on his lap, his cock gone harder still at being discovered fucking his friend’s wife. 

“You've been keeping an eye on us, have you not?” Miranda would ask, teasing. 

“Miranda!” Thomas, as always, would do an appalling job at feigning outrage.

“Oh, Thomas. There's no need for that, dear. The lieutenant and I were rather hoping you'd join us.” 

The James in Miranda’s mind would blush deeply, but nod all the same, that tempting smirk on his face beckoning her dear husband to their side. 

“Please, Thomas,” James would say, leaning forward to undo the buttons of Thomas’ breeches whilst Miranda worked fast on his waistcoat. Without a word being said, Miranda would hold Thomas’ cock and offer it, so deliciously hard, such a longed for treat, for James to suck. 

“Don't be greedy, James,” Miranda would say as she took her turn sucking Thomas off. She would ride James to her satisfaction, leaving him hard and desperate inside her, urging him to achieve his own end inside her with Thomas’ prick hard in his mouth, her voice whispering the most obscene of encouragements to his ear. 

With a satisfied sigh Miranda decided she would waste no more time on pleasurable fantasies, not when this night her bed was not empty, her husband and lover gently sleeping by her side. It had been a day busy with meetings, carefully staged encounters intended to strengthen the best parts of their reputations whilst Thomas and James worked on the finer, and most dangerous, details for their proposal. 

“Thomas. Wake up, Thomas,” Miranda said with a soft whisper. 

Thomas, as usual, kept on sleeping. James, on the other hand, opened his eyes at once, though it was not his name the one being uttered. A lifetime’s worth of being called on with no notice had taught him many things, no least of all how to keep his dreams to himself. As always, that spark of shy and delighted surprise at not waking up alone shone bright in his eyes. It softened his face in ways most flattering.

“I’d like you to help me wake Thomas up, James,” Miranda said, leaning over to kiss him. “There are,” she said, “a few things I’d like to try this morning,” she whispered, a kiss on his jawline, “a few things I thought about last night,” she added, her hand light and teasing down his chest, “a few things I woke up thinking about this morning. It’d be ever so delightful.”

And so she shared the images that had so deliciously distracted her earlier that morning with James, quick whispers to rouse him up, his eagerness to play his part in her wishes becoming all too obvious. But bells rung nonetheless and the city woke up around them, a siege against their world.

“If only we had the time,” he whispered, gently kissing her back, his eyes grown far too somber for so early an hour.

There was no time for it. It had grown late and the world would burst in any second now, the walls of her kingdom would crumble down with a simple knock on her bedroom’s door, either because a single act of disobedience of her rules or a moment’s forgetfulness of her instructions. And so Miranda told James of a simpler fancy, of the hunger of her mouth, if only for her own delight at his arousal, to admire the blush on his skin at her words. She did not tell him of the crown on her head, the throne and scepter, of how she'd rule their world. Instead they turned to Thomas, all of their unspoken longing and dreams making their mouths and hands even hungrier on Thomas’ skin as they removed his nightshirt. As he slowly woke up his hands went to Miranda’s waist, his mouth to James’. 

If Thomas sensed the need for urgency in Miranda and James’ gestures, he did not say. Instead, he simply surrendered himself to their love, bright and generous and greedy with it in the way only he could carry. Thomas had never taken her affection for granted and had worked hard to receive James’.

“Oh, Thomas. Oh, James,” she whispered, her hands holding theirs. They touched each other and Miranda with desperate hands and desperate mouths, one kiss after the other, a chorus of sighs and moans and gasps as Miranda slid down her marriage bed to take them both into her mouth. There was no throne to sit herself on, no kingdom to rule over, nothing but these two men at her command. There was only for hunger: the hunger of her mouth as they kissed each other, as they lost themselves to each other's touch one after the other in her mouth; the hunger of her heart as she took and took and loved them more and more.

Miranda would know them with her eyes closed, in the depths of the night and the blinding light of the day, the taste of each man so different, the differences in length and width magnified in her mouth. They were looking at her, she knew, James with his eyes wide open as she teased Thomas in just the way he so loved, the flickering tongue around the slit before taking him deep into her mouth, sucking soft then hard, making him groan loud and desperate, almost as desperate as James himself. James was ever so obedient, keeping his hands away from his cock, fists clenched tight by his thighs, as if he was in some manner of obscene parade, his body ready to be inspected. 

“Such a good boy you are, James,” Miranda said as she pulled away from Thomas, her eyes steadfast on James’. She also knew how he best loved to be touched: long licks that grew closer and closer to the head of his cock, pearly drops of clear precome waiting for her as she suckled on him, saving the lightest touches of her tongue for the slit of his cock, for the very last moments, all of her delighting at his gasps and the way he kept himself in place, her sex growing wetter and wetter all the while.

Thomas, dear Thomas, couldn't help but touch himself as her mouth moved from his body to James’. He had always been fond of watching, and there had been so very few opportunities for him to observe Miranda’s skills in bed this close. “One day we’ll take turns with our lieutenant, dear wife. And the first one to make him come will get to fuck his arse.”

James groaned and Miranda giggled, James’ cock slipping out of her mouth. This was what their life should be: free, full of laughter, love and joy. 

“You should know better than to touch yourself before I said so, Thomas,” Miranda teasingly rebuked. “For your impatience, my dear husband, you must to pay. You shall not spend until he does. Now, kiss our James,” she said before sucking him down, her right hand a tight grip around the base of James’ cock. He was much too close to his climax to endure her teasing, for as much as Thomas cared to look, James had an equal, if more closely guarded, taste for being watched. 

Once James was close Miranda issued her orders, “Get close, my darlings, closer still,” and they obeyed her command, until they were all but lying on their sides, their cocks rubbing against each other’s, so close it was only natural to attempt to take them both at once into her mouth. Her hands held on what her mouth couldn't take, her tongue teasing, her gestures almost clumsy with need and, oh, they were coming in her mouth and all over each other, first James, then Thomas, her eyes wide open as she stared up to them, their expressions full of disbelief and pleasure. 

There was more hunger still as Miranda sat up, their fingers desperate on her sex as they took turns kissing her, her hands tight on their hair, bringing Thomas and James even closer to her. They tasted each other in her mouth, their fingers wringing from her a devastating orgasm, heartstopping in its urgency. She came with both their fingers inside her, her body clenching hard, wanting to take them deep inside her where they'd never leave.

Thomas and James kissed her as her tremors subsided. They kissed her neck, her breasts, her eyelids. They kissed her with gentle, chaste kisses on her mouth and chin, carefully wiping clean their spend from her skin. For a moment there was nothing but blissful silence, utter peace, and the loud beat of their hearts.

Miranda lied back, cushioned by Thomas’ chest. In the creeping dawn, they got to catch their breath and laze in bed, a luxury James could not afford as he dressed in a hurry, barely taking the time to clean himself up, his limbs clumsy with sleep and pleasure. He would make his way across London with his shirt half undone under his coat, his mouth still tasting of their kiss. There was no time for anything more, for not even Miranda, Queen of England, could stop time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in ages, but such is the power of Black Sails. Do come say hi on my [tumblr](https://selfconsciousfangirl.tumblr.com/) if you want.


End file.
